"Oho? Oho? Ohoho[i]ho?[/i] What is this? You have been holding out on me! When were you planning on telling me you found a Path Between? Wicked Canada! Naughty girl, keeping your playground all to yourself! [i]C'est terrible![/i] You are begging to be disciplined, yes!"

Marianne's feet have not touched the ground since she slipped her way in here. She glides effortlessly on a hazy cloud of shadows next to Canada, and starts to laugh. The gold of her chain-mask glints painfully. Her ruby-fanged grin spreads wider than her actual head, as if the shape of the girl floating along the hall here wasn't enough to contain all that power and fury and raw domme energy that's always dripping off of her. 

Every time she passes a reflection, there's a different shape to notice. Or rather there are different pieces of the same shape: here a long serpentine tail with a whiplike protrusion that resembles nothing so much as a thresher shark's appendage, there a wall of quivering muscles wrapped in dark and shredded robes, further up a pair of broken, feathery wings too devastated for proper flight, and finally her face, her true face, as enormous as the sphinx and just as inscrutable for all her rakish, hungry grinning. 

Marianne, which is to say the phantom thief herself, blinks from a spot just behind Canada to a point several steps in front of her, looming and staring with a look of intense judgment plastered all over her that she doesn't bother to conceal. In here it's possible to watch her in action, to pick apart the mechanics of her movement. She doesn't teleport, obviously, that's simple enough to figure out just from having been carried side-along one or two too many times. But here, the paths are obvious; without much effort at all it's possible to see her stretch her leg beyond the accepted border of a space and leap into the architecture of the space around her. She's free running: performing feets of [i]parkour[/i] across nightmares and truth. Canada can make her own decisions about whether that makes her more or less impressive. 

"The paths are shallow here," she pouts, "But your sea is deep. I like it very much, [i]mon chevalier![/i] Yes! A shining knight should walk a twisted path indeed. Is this your hope, Ca-Na-Da? Are you twisting yourself into a knife the stab the heart of the tyrant-gods? You are too small for this, yes! A little mouse and nothing more! Give it to me! Return yourself to a shield and give the role of cutpurse over to its rightful owner!"

She grins, and spreads her shadow wide across the street. The impression of a shark smelling blood in the water is impossible not to conjure. But then she tilts her head. It's a question, then. What are you here for, little knight? What do you want? What do you [i]want?[/i] Tell your big sister Marianne what moves you!